In The End
by Periwinkle Watson
Summary: Sharpay's best friend and only brother has suddenly died. After his funeral, she finally realizes the extent of her loss. And the pain is too much to bear. TWOSHOT/THREESHOT
1. Part 1

**This was on my rpofile (way back when I had the section called: Possible Stories, or something like that) and I thought I probably wouldn't ever write it.**

**But then, I had a thought. ...At the dollar store. And well, here we are. ;) This is going to be a twoshot. So watch out for Part 2.  
Also, check the soundtrack!  
(Located on my profile! :D)**

**-sxg**

* * *

**In the End  
Part One  
(Sharpay's POV)**

Everyone always says to fight; don't give up hope. It's not as bad as it could have been. Time heals. Just choose life.

But all these years, I've wondered what's around the corner. It just seemed so cliche, so unoriginal to keep pushing forward while your whole world falls apart. There had to be a backside. One that's wonderfully tragic. Choosing to give up, letting the bad guys win. A story of regret and shame, an existence of no hope.

I just wanted to know: what happens if you choose death?

Tears crawled down my face, plopping into the hot bathwater below. Slowly, I let my fingers slip off the sides and splash into the bath too. Then, the last whisper of my strength left me. My head drifted down under the water.

I watched the ripples above me in a romantic, intoxicated silence. Everything down here was quiet and good. I couldn't hear those awful words anymore. I couldn't taste the pollution of my own stabbing words. I couldn't smell the hatred in the room. I couldn't feel my heart anymore.

A drip from the faucet shook the stillness as it fell. My skin was numb. And my back settled against the white porcelain softly. But just when the euphoria was released, a new, overwhelming feeling took its place.

Panic.

I couldn't breathe. A weight was crushing my chest. The silence was suffocating me. And then those murderous thoughts came crashing back, toppling the entire scale.

_What happens if you choose death?_

I was so terrified. A million bubbles fluttered to the sky as I spurted out the last breath in my lungs. Petrified, I sprang out of the water. But as I did so, I slammed my forehead right into the cutting edge of the faucet; it sliced my skin deeply; a drip of blood clouded the water.

And in that split-second before I went black, I finally heard the answer loud and clear:

Nothing happens.

You die.

[-x-x-x-]

I lost my best friend long before he died.

Ryan and I used to be buddies—we didn't just hang out to rehearse our act in the musical of current. We honestly enjoyed spending time with each other. …Well, I enjoyed _his_ company. With all the fraternizing and scheming I did, I can't be sure he reciprocated that. It did _seem_ as though he didn't mind me terribly. But back then, if I stared hard enough, I could make white look like black, just by ignoring what I didn't want to see.

That evening when I stared at his coffin; when I stared at the other mourners staring right back; when I stared at my broken complexion in the bathroom mirror—I couldn't bring him back. And I couldn't, can never, take back all I've done.

I can never undo the summer I betrayed him. Betrayed the only boy who loved me back _half_ as much I as loved him. Betrayed my only friend. Betrayed my only brother. And after that, our relationship was never the same. We didn't really hang out anymore. We went our separate ways. But what I never told Ryan was that, after he was gone, I had no one left. He was the only good thing about me.

But then he made a career, a new life for himself; and the Evans Twins ceased to exist. It wasn't, "Hey there's Sharpay and Ryan!" It was, "Hey Ryan! Looking good!" Without Ryan, I was nothing. Oh, I pretended I was better off. And that his departure was a breath of relief. But I was lying through my pearly white teeth. Come to think of it, when have I never lied?

I especially remember lying when Ryan won a full-scholarship to Julliard. Not only was I horrible enough to want it for myself, but I also wished it was mine _just_ so Ryan wouldn't forget about me. Just so Ryan couldn't have it. If he was out there, on Broadway, living the dream we used to share, what would become of Sharpay Evans? Where would I end up?

Stuck at U of A.

And despite all the huffing and puffing, and envying and striving—I could not change a thing.

Ryan was everything I wanted to be. And I was nothing like him.


	2. Part 2

**Okay, time for a little clarification: this is not the end. Becuase that would be lame, lol. I'm going to write another chapter. I don't know how many, could be a 3-shot or a 5-shot. I don't know. I'll just write until I think the story is finished. ;)**

**Shout Out to RememberxDecember: You reminded me that there was more than one "In The End" that I liked. That's the soundtrack for this chapter, so thanks! **

**Also, SHOUT OUT 2: xxxerinlouisexxx, b.c she truly got the gist (jist?) of this story, something I hadn't even seen until she mentioned it-and well, your comments are some of the best I've ever recieved. :D So kudos to you, my friend!**

**Go to my profile and listen to the soundtrack!**

**Review pretty please! ;]**

**-sxg**

* * *

**In The End**

**Part 2**

An erratic gasp slipped from my teeth and pierced the air with its haunting voice.

It sent shivers down my arms, and the arms that were squeezing mine. Its bizarre sound and the terrifying feeling it left behind sparked me out of my dream haze. My eyes were open and wide, soaking in the sharpness of the scene surrounding me now. What happened to me? Shaking, cold, and wet, I glanced around the room like a lost little girl—the only person I've ever been.

I was lying on the ground. And someone was holding me, staring down at me, shouting words I couldn't hear just yet. Then, in the blink of an eye, it was as if an unknown force took a rag and cleaned away the haze; and pushed me back into the world of the real.

"Sharpay? Can you hear me?" he said.

"Yes," I said softly. Then with more surprise, "Yes, yes. I can hear you." Finally, my eyes moved to his face. I saw. But my brain wasn't ready to comprehend the full meaning—unable to even try to understand why it was Troy Bolton leaning over top of me.

"Oh my God," he said with a scared sigh. "I thought…." He couldn't even finish his sentence; he just covered his face and released his tight grip on my arms.

My brows were squeezed together, and a lump had suddenly appeared in my throat, as I looked up at his weary frame. I was straddling a vulgar dream world and the cutting edge of reality. Nothing processed correctly.

All I could do was breathe in. And breathe out.

"Do you think you can sit up?" Troy suddenly asked, quietly. I gave him a half-nod, quite comfortable on the tile floor where I lay. If I moved, I might have to dive in, head over heels, into this emotional wreck of reality. But if I could just stay like this for a few moments, maybe the transformation would be gentle.

But I couldn't verbalize any of this.

So, Troy reached out to me, sliding his hand behind my neck and the other on my waist—ready to help me. Together we sat up, slowly and softly. All I remembered was lying down, his warm hands, and the next thing I knew, we had our backs against the wall. My brain faded in and out of the memories—sometimes I could smell and taste each little particle in the room, while the other half suffered like a trace of a bad dream.

"Do you remember what happened?" Troy whispered, tucking a strand of my soggy locks behind my ear. He twisted himself to meet my eyes.

I shook my head no. Then I glanced down at the soaking wet gown stuck to my skin, heavy and itchy. A thousand tiny memories flashed before me. I looked back at Troy, not sure if I was even seeing his face. And I nodded yes.

"Ryan died."

Troy sighed deeply, keeping his eyes on mine, "I know," he said soothingly. "I was at the funeral too."

I shook my head. He didn't get it.

"No, Ryan _died_."

Troy's hand lingered at the back of my neck.

"What happened?" he asked again, his voice soft as ever.

"I took a bath." I moved my eyes back to his, and then away again.

"I know. That's where I found you unconscious, at the bottom of the tub."

"Oh."

"Shar…" he sighed that same frightened breath of air. I could feel his eyes roaming my face steadily, but I remained still and cold. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, as he pulled me into his chest, his chin nestled in my hair.

Falling into another human body, when I was frightened and heartbroken, was all I wanted. I just wanted someone to fall back on. Just one person to shield me from the rain. Just one, soft and warm.

Slowly, I shifted into Troy further, wrapping my pale arms around him.

"I was just trying to figure it all out," I said suddenly. I don't know what possessed me—it just came out. "I wanted to know what it feels like to die. I wanted to feel something, anything." As I spoke, tears slid down my cheeks. "I just wanted to know why. Why I didn't do anything to stop it. Why I let him go."

I couldn't say anymore, the sadness clogged my throat. I just cried and cried and cried. And Troy just held me.


End file.
